Paradise and Mush

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It definitely ain't art, but I just wanted to show you one of the things I will have to leave behind at our little home. The Birds of Paradise were here when we moved in and they have survived all our sputtering attention and neglect. They have not only survived, they have treated us to a grand display of outrageous color each and every year. They will be sorely missed.

With the bedlam here, I missed an opportunity to celebrate a tiny anniversary this week. The post on the 26th was post number one hundred. I should have had a small celebration.

For the last couple of days even if I take a break to sit down at the computer, I stare at the screen, but nothing happens. My brain has turned to mush. I think one or two neurons might be firing—might be. This moving thing is for young people, or the wealthy. (Some days I fantasize about what it would be like to simply direct others to do all this work. I could just walk around directing others to handle the chores.) I have read numerous fascinating entries in the blogs I visit most days (all the Paul's—Butzi, Lester, and Maxim—have been posting some wonderful material. Meanwhile, Doug Stockdale continues to describe his progression as he develops a series and enlightens the rest of us in in the process. But, I sit like a lump unable to articulate my admiration for their work, much less add anything to the conversation. Since the 2008 Great Rebellion of my digestive system, those jolts of caffeine that can coax a few more neurons to fire are no longer an option. I would love to tell you stories about The Husband sanding and painting the front door (we are still tweaking and polishing); the relief of finally being on the market, our one day trip to Bear Valley delivering still more boxes. But, I couldn't do any of them justice. So, I will settle for letting you know there are stories—just not today.

The End of Phase One—Finally

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The trees got trimmed; the deck got painted; still more boxes got filled; who knows how many trips were made to the thrift store to donate items that should have been gotten rid of a long time ago; furniture got rearranged and some was moved out of the house. We were pretty much there last week, but I got sick (stress does wicked thing to the body, doesn’t it?) and then we got inspired to do more. So, we spent another week, doing still more tweaking, polishing, and “set dressing”. The Husband and I are exhausted, but we got a passing grade. Whoopee! We go on the market this weekend. I know, I know “the market is dead”. Still, someone is buying, and we are prepared to be exceptions. The main thing is that phase one is behind us. Today, Carey, our LA realtor, (we have our LA realtor and our Bear Valley realtor—lucky us, both fantastic ladies) told us that sometimes going through this ordeal wrecks marriages. Now, she tells us. I think we were working so hard that we were too tired to fight.

The only photography I have done is taking pictures for Carey. (Hey, it was better than not taking pictures at all.) Actually, it was a great experience, since I knew nothing about taking photos for marketing a house. Because I had neither the time, nor the energy, to do anything fancy, I kept it verrrry simple and shot with the on-camera flash. Still, she liked what I got, so I guess I learned a few things along the way.

I dipped into the Colorado folder for the photo above.